


Penance

by eluna



Series: Dean Winchester's A+ Parenting [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Emotionally Repressed Dean Winchester, Episode: s11e12 Don't You Forget About Me, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt Ben Braeden, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jody Mills's Home for Wayward Youth, Memory Alteration, POV Sam Winchester, Pre-Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Psychic Abilities, Sam Winchester Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Season/Series 11, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 02:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10652766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eluna/pseuds/eluna
Summary: How old must Ben be by now, anyway—seventeen, eighteen? Sam can’t be sure, especially since Ben looks at least a few years older than his age, crazed grief carved deep into the sunken lines of his dirty face. How long’s it been since his last shower? They know nothing about his current living situation—whether he even has a stable one—because Ben, understandably, doesn’t seem too keen on providing any more detailed an account of his life than the vague and sweeping assault he made against Dean after first tracking the two of them to the outside entrance to the bunker.“You thought you were protecting them by leaving them alone,” Sam offers.“Alone and helpless. I thought I was doing them a favor. I told myself… but I don’t know, Sammy. This wasn’t for them. This was for me, my peace of mind.”





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [publia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/publia/gifts).



> For **publia**. Canon-divergent sequel to Bullseye. Warnings: suicidal tendencies; non-graphic references to past or hypothetical rape. Dean and Sam's relationship in this fic could be read as either pre-Wincest OR just pretty codependent same as in canon (which, let's be real here, is basically the same thing).

Sam’s surprised when Ben doesn’t argue against coming inside the bunker with them, slouching through the entryway with his hands jammed in his back jean pockets, thumbs hooked outside the denim. Ben isn’t crying anymore, but he’s started to clam up entirely now that he seems to have run out of accusations, shrugging noncommittally at everything Sam says to him with an empty haunt behind his eyes that makes Sam worry like hell about him without even knowing him, really. He and Ben haven’t had an actual conversation since—shoot, that time with the changelings, when he and Ben had only just met. Dean was always the one who had a relationship with him, even before moving in with Lisa for that year. Now, though, Dean can’t even look Ben in the face; the boy shoots him down every time Dean acknowledges him.

“Do you want something to eat? Maybe a shower?” Ben’s eyes flick up to Sam’s, and he looks totally nonplussed, like he was expecting Sam to—who knows? He probably thinks they’re both total whack-jobs, and possibly serial killers as well, without his memories of them—once again begging the question _why_ he came inside. Sam tries again: “You have to have traveled to find us. Is there anything—”

“I don’t need anything from you,” Ben says in a strangled voice.

“I know. I—of course. I just mean, if you _want_ to… to make use of the bunker, you’re welcome to. The water pressure is pretty great in the shower room.”

At first, Ben just drops his eyes again and ignores Dean’s muted declaration that he’s going to toss something on the stove for dinner. As Dean turns awkwardly to flee the war room, Sam reaches for his wrist and gives him an imploring look, but Dean just goes stock-still for a second, hollowly returning Sam’s gaze, before shrugging out of his grip.

Ben doesn’t speak again until Sam’s half-buried in lore, the smell of burgers and cheddar wafting in from the kitchen. “I would have thought you’d have killed me by now for sure,” he says, and the words sound clear, but there’s something broken there that Sam’s got no idea how to mend.

“You can’t have really believed that. You chose to come home with us, didn’t you?” Sam works very hard, with probably only moderate success, to keep his voice light.

“Maybe I was hoping you _would_ kill me.”

“Ben… buddy…” The boy recoils. “I don’t know, uh, how much you remember, but we kill monsters—demons—not people. Dean, um… we’ve known you since—”

“You don’t know shit about what I am now.”

“No, but we would like to. _I_ would like to.”

Ben looks away again, can’t seem to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds before he raises even those walls again. “I don’t owe you, Winchester.”

“No. If anything, we owe you. A hot shower and a meal is the least we can offer.”

There’s a long pause as Ben glares in the vague direction of the map at the center of the room, and then his shoulders slump a bit as he lets out a big breath. “Yeah. All right, fine.”

Dean gives up early on trying to talk to Ben, besides mumbling that there’s beer in the fridge if he wants one as he passes Ben a cheeseburger and a steaming heap of macaroni and cheese on an oven-warmed plate. Sam raises his eyebrows: Dean always went postal at the idea of Sam drinking alcohol before he graduated from high school, and at least for a year, Dean was enough of a father figure to Ben that his leniency now takes Sam by surprise. Then again, it’s not like Ben seems to remember much about their relationship, besides the flashes that somehow filtered through past Castiel’s memory wipe, and Dean probably doesn’t feel justified in bossing the boy around after everything that apparently happened to him and Lisa as a direct result of that wipe.

How old must Ben be by now, anyway—seventeen, eighteen? Sam can’t be sure, especially since Ben looks at least a few years older than his age, crazed grief carved deep into the sunken lines of his dirty face. How long’s it been since his last shower? They know nothing about his current living situation—whether he even has a stable one—because Ben, understandably, doesn’t seem too keen on providing any more detailed an account of his life than the vague and sweeping assault he made against Dean after first tracking the two of them to the outside entrance to the bunker.

Ben plows through the meal wordlessly and methodically, ignoring Sam’s weak attempts at conversation and only acknowledging him (but not Dean) again to ask where he can take the previously offered shower. After unnecessarily slowly rooting around for the fluffiest spare towel and bathrobe he can find, Sam walks him to the shower room, lingering awkwardly inside the doorway after fetching Ben Sam’s own shampoo and soap to borrow: they work up a nicer lather than Dean’s cheapskate stuff does, and besides, Sam doesn’t think Ben will want his skin to smell the same as Dean’s does as a result of sharing his products.

“So, um, how far of a distance will you have to travel to get back home again?”

“Don’t have a home. I stole the car I used to follow you back here—wasn’t really counting on leaving Lebanon alive after.”

It’s the matter-of-fact way Ben says it, even more than _what_ he says, that gets under Sam’s skin. “You know, there are more than enough bedrooms to go around here, if you want to borrow one of them at least for the night. There’s also more than enough space that you won’t even be able to tell Dean and I are here.”

Scoffing, Ben flicks open the cap on the shampoo bottle with his thumb and makes his way backward toward the showerheads. Sam shakes his head a little as he ducks back out into the hall.

Dean’s doing the dishes in the kitchen, rubbing halfheartedly around and around the same plate. Times like this, Sam wishes more than anything that he could just hug Dean like he used to do when they were _really_ little kids—but Dean won’t have any of that anymore, especially not from Sam. He grits his teeth. “Dean, this isn’t your fault.”

Dean doesn’t react for a long moment, and Sam’s midway through repeating himself before Dean drops the plate with a clatter and whirls around, red-faced and furious, with himself, Sam, all of it. “Oh, yeah? Tell me, Sam: how is it that this happened because of anything or anybody but me? Lisa dying—Ben—”

Words fail him, then, and he shoves away the hand Sam tries to lay on his shoulder. “You didn’t make those choices. You thought you were protecting them by leaving them alone.”

“Alone and _helpless_. I thought I was doing them a favor. I told myself… but I don’t know, Sammy. This wasn’t for them. This was for me, _my_ peace of mind.”

Sam can’t disagree with that without looking like a total liar, so he just sighs and leans back against the counter next to where Dean’s started scrubbing at a fork with controlled fury. “He’s here now, and he could use our help.”

“He don’t want our help, Sammy.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to _see_ us, but we can still—get him set up someplace better. I don’t think he has a permanent home anymore, Dean. I think… I think we should call Jody and see if she wouldn’t be opposed to taking him in, just to help him get back on his feet and—prepare him a little, in case he ever comes up against another demon.”

“She ain’t running a damn group home,” Dean grumbles, but he doesn’t protest much more than that, and neither, surprisingly, does Jody or even Ben.

-

They don’t see Ben again until a surprise phone call from Claire brings them back to Sioux Falls. If Dean’s anxious about the prospect of seeing Ben again, he won’t admit it, at least not to Sam: the one time Sam tries to bring it up, Dean levels him with a death glare and white-knuckles the steering wheel before he resumes belting along to Fleetwood, his voice coming out just a little sharper. Sam rolls his eyes, closes them, then opens them again hastily as Cage-flashes start to paint themselves behind his eyelids.

He’s feeling more than a little shaken up by the time Dean rolls up to Jody’s driveway, but it’s nothing Sam doesn’t know how to hide. Inside, Claire and Ben are huddled up together on the couch in the living room when Sam and Dean let themselves in; Sam doesn’t miss the pained look that crosses Dean’s face as Ben sidles out of the room while Claire’s hugging both men in greeting.

Apparently, Claire notices as well because she pulls out of Dean’s embrace to fix him with an incredulous stare. “What, did you think Ben was going to magically forgive you in the four months since he moved here for all the shit that’s happened to him? It’s gonna take time, Dean—a lot of it.”

Dean squeezes her shoulders with a funny little smile but says nothing. Stepping back, Sam takes a seat on the couch and withholds a sigh when Dean plunks himself on the loveseat adjacent to it, just about as far down the thing and away from Sam as he can manage. “How’s Ben holding up here, Claire?” Sam interjects. “How are _you_ holding up?”

“I’m fine,” she says a little too quickly for Sam’s liking. “Ben’s… that’s his story to tell, but you don’t gotta worry about him as much as you did before. He’s been better since he started studying.”

“He’s back in school?” says Dean hoarsely.

Claire smiles wryly. “He’s preparing to get his G.E.D., but that’s not what I meant. Jody’s got him training with some friend of hers who’s a psychic.”

“Ben is _psychic_?”

“Maybe—I don’t know. I don’t even know if _he_ knows for sure. But it would explain why his memories started coming back, and he’s a lot… calmer… now that he’s been learning how to unbury them and organize them and whatever. And we’ve been practicing exorcisms and devil’s traps.” She snorts a laugh. “Jody wasn’t happy at first when she saw what we did to the walls of our bedroom, but enough demons have targeted him that _I_ think he’d be stupid not to take precautions.”

Frowning, Sam asks, “I’m sorry—did you say ‘our’ bedroom, like, as in _both_ of your…?”

Claire shrugs. “We didn’t have an extra bedroom for him to use. Jody was going to make me move in with Alex at first, but Ben and I actually get along, so we just—squeezed a second bed into my room for him.” She smirks at the identical blank stares Sam and Dean are wearing as she adds, “Don’t be such pervs, guys, come on. I’m not even two full years older than him, and anyway, it’s not _like_ that.”

She and Ben really do seem to just be friends, albeit extremely close ones. At dinner, Ben sits next to Alex but pulls his chair close enough to the head of the table where Claire’s seated that Sam’s positive their knees must be knocking together, and Ben’s got this way of sort of—withdrawing into Claire when he starts to look overwhelmed. He’ll duck his head toward hers with his chin in his palms, and she’ll shift a bit—patting Ben’s knee bracingly, Sam imagines—before tossing out a casual insult directed at whoever’s speaking in a clear attempt at misdirection. Even if everyone sees right through Claire, Ben seems more at ease because of it, smiling faintly with his head bowed and shoulders hunched.

“Do you _really_ buy that those two aren’t…?” Dean mutters to Sam as they’re clearing the table after the meal.

“What? No, I mean, I don’t think so. Honestly, the way they act around each other kind of reminded me of us, you know, when we were kids.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up by about a foot. “Seriously? We were never that… _touch_ -y, god.”

“Dude, yes, we were. You’ve always been an overprotective pain in my ass.”

“Freak. You’re the clingy one,” Dean mutters, turning his face away. “Hey, listen, can you go up and talk to Claire tonight? I was talking to Jody, and…”

-

Claire wasn’t kidding: the walls and ceiling of her and Ben’s bedroom are plastered with devil’s traps and protective sigils, not all of which Sam even recognizes. As Ben dashes out of the room faster than you can say _Christo_ , Sam inspects them with an impressed nod. All things considered, it probably _is_ safest for Ben to prepare himself for future encounters with demons: Sam doesn’t know exactly which ones went after the boy before, or why, but Ben’s relationship to Dean (however much it may be in the past) will probably keep him a target for a long time to come, if what little Sam knows about Ben’s adolescence is anything to go by.

When he heads out to make up a bed for himself on the couch, voices downstairs stop him, and Sam hangs back at the top of the staircase when he recognizes Dean’s familiar one and Ben’s—lower-pitched than Sam’s foggy memory of it from years ago, and angry, now, as seems to usually be the case these days. Ben’s words shake as he says them. “You know, I used to think you must have been a rapist?” he’s telling Dean now. “I used to think you _must_ have been abusing Mom or me or, hell, both of us—that we tried to escape, or something, and you erased our memories to hide what you did from the police? But everything I’ve uncovered—you were just this depressing loser drunk guy with low self-esteem. You didn’t touch me—you barely ever saw me! You just sat on your ass drinking and moping and asking Mom why she wouldn’t kick you out, and I don’t know why she didn’t, and I don’t know why I… In all my memories, I looked up to you. Why? Why would I have done that?”

“I don’t know.”

“No—no—that’s not good enough. I want to know _why_ , Dean. You got me to love you, once, somehow, and then you took the reason why away from me. You went inside my _head_ like it _belonged_ to you, and I need—I want to _know_ —”

“2007; you were eight years old; I went to see your mom, and she introduced me to you,” Dean mumbles. Ben falls silent, apart from the heavy breathing Sam can hear from all the way upstairs. “At the time, I thought I was dying—I mean, I _was_ dying—doesn’t matter; it’s a long story. Seeing your mom again was on my bucket list, and Sammy indulged me. She and I… were old friends.”

“Right,” Ben scoffs, but Dean plows on ahead like he doesn’t even hear him.

“I didn’t even know she had a kid. We showed up, middle of your eighth birthday party, and you were so… God, you were funny, and you were smart, and I thought… even then, I already kind of wished you were my kid, even though you weren’t. Anyway, changelings had infiltrated the neighborhood—they kidnapped you—Sam and me killed the mother and put everything right again. You got all the other kids to safety. _You_ did that… Couple years later, Sam was dead, and your mom took me in.”

“I remember that,” says Ben as Dean clears his throat. “Sometimes, I’d overhear Mom telling you you needed to let him go because—because it wasn’t healthy how tangled up you were. Then he came back, and you skipped out on us like nothing was wrong now that _he_ was there. Are you two still like that?”

There’s a brief pause before Dean answers, “Yeah, uh, yeah. I guess we are.”

“You and your brother seem to die a lot.”

“Kid, you have _no_ idea.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“No… no, you’re not. Anyway, uh, I was a mess—I didn’t deserve… but, um, you were a lot like me, and you meant a lot to me, and I guess you could see that. I’m guessing that’s why. We had our moments, you and me.”

“I remember some of them. You used to show me… stuff.”

After another pause, Sam can hear creaking, like one of them is crossing the living room or sitting down or something. Finally, Dean asks, “How’re you doing up here, Ben—really?”

In an instant, Ben’s tone returns to entirely punishing. “I’m going to be real clear with you on something, Dean. Just because now I remember having trusted you once does not mean that I suddenly trust you again now. It’s your own fault that I stopped, one way or the other, and you don’t own me. You do not get to decide what thoughts and feelings and beliefs to take out of my head or put back in. You fucked up bad when you decided to make my mind a public space— _my mind_ —and just because Claire says you’re all right and I told her you could come here does not give you grounds to _get_ anything from me.”

“You told—you were okay with us coming here?”

Ben chuckles, grim and sharp. “She’s the only friend I’ve got, and _she_ can be trusted: of course she talked to me before she called you. I’m not going to keep her away from any of the few people she cares about, no matter how much I hate them, but that was about her. This doesn’t make us good, Dean, because we’re _not_ , and we’re not gonna be.”

“Okay,” Dean says heavily. “Okay.”

-

Sam uses the extra three inches in height that he’s got on his brother to relegate Dean to the loveseat for the night. Neither of them gets much sleep with their limbs folded up painfully; Dean spends half the night bitching about how little room he’s got, and it kills Sam a little that he can’t just—share the couch or even the floor with Dean, just to have that closeness, all of that sleep-soft warmth pressed along his side until Sam’s sweating too hot to remember the Cage or Lucifer or…

But he can’t face the way he knows Dean would sneer at him for asking, and anyway, they’re spending the night in Jody’s living room, not a motel or even a guest bedroom with any semblance of privacy. People already constantly assume that Sam and Dean are screwing each other without ever seeing them touch, let alone literally sleep together overnight, and he wouldn’t want to put any uncomfortable strain on their relationship with Jody, who’s never been anything but gracious to them both.

Long after Dean finally nods off with his legs bent at the knees, calves dangling fully over one armrest, Sam lies awake forcing his breathing to remain steady as he tries to shut out the sound of Lucifer’s voice inside his head. It gets hard some nights to keep straight what’s been real and what’s been a hallucination since Sam fell in that cemetery all those years ago, especially now that he’s been back in Lucifer’s hands, the intervening years scrunching down to nothing, Sam’s skin as good as flayed, ass raw and sore and split apart by—

“Sammy, man, hey, stay with me. You’re gonna wake the whole house up, and then Ben will kick us out of here before we can finish bestowing Claire with moral wisdom.”

“Right, because _we_ are the global authority on moral wisdom. Did I fall asleep?”

“You must have, dude. You were, like—wailing, kind of. You’ve started doing it again ever since… you know.” Sam swipes at his eyes; they’re damp and stinging a little. “Think you can go back to sleep?”

“No,” Sam grunts out, but he promptly rolls over to face the back of the couch and passes out cold until morning.

-

It’s likely only because Ben is out of the house for psychic practice at the time that the custodian doesn’t abduct him, too. Ben gets back to Jody’s shortly after Dean gets off the phone with Jody’s colleagues from the local P.D.; the boy drops his bike in the middle of the yard and runs the rest of the way to the garage where Sam and Dean are deliberating. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Christ, Ben, I thought—thank god,” Dean mutters. “He’s got Claire and Jody.”

“Demon?”

“Vampire. One from Alex’s old nest, we think. Sam, we gotta go warn her.”

“Yeah, all right,” says Sam, looking frantically from Dean to Ben and back again. “You pick her up. I’ll go check Beesome’s office—there’s bound to be something there.”

“I’m coming with you,” Ben interjects.

“No, you’re not,” Dean says immediately. “You’re not a trained hunter; you should stick with me and Alex and get to safety.”

But Ben shakes his head emphatically, attaching himself to Sam’s side. “If he’s got Claire—if he’s got _Jody_? I have to help them.”

“You can’t!”

“I have to try. It’s _my_ choice. I’ve outlived six demon attacks on psychic intuition alone. My instincts are good—please. Sam.”

Sam’s stupor only lasts a moment before he tells Dean apologetically, “There’s no time to argue: you have to get to Alex.”

“Sammy—”

“I’ll keep him safe. I promise. Go!”

Ben clambers into Jody’s truck as Sam fumbles around the driver’s seat and unearths a spare set of keys above the sun visor. Ben’s quiet all the way to the school and unearths a smudged old map of the campus almost as soon as he and Sam step inside the custodial office, twisting his hands together as Sam answers Dean’s phone call only to hear that Alex has been taken, too. It’s not until Ben and Sam reach the pool house to find Claire bleeding on the ground, Alex and Jody both bound to the metal rails encircling the room, that the shock seems to get to Ben, and he—collapses?—just as Alex screams Sam’s name and Beesome knocks Sam down with what appears to be a sledgehammer.

Sam’s machete clatters to the floor, and he’s fumbling for it when he realizes that something’s really, really wrong with Ben. His eyes meet Sam’s, their faces level where they’re both splayed across the ground, but Ben’s not moving to get up the way that Sam is. Instead, he’s trembling in place with his skull clutched in his hands, groaning incoherently, and Sam narrowly dodges another blow from Beesome as he snatches up the machete in one hand and reaches for Ben with the other. “Ben, what—?”

“I remember,” Ben moans. “I remember.”

In his periphery, he can see Alex’s boyfriend (the hell?) aiming for him, but all Sam can think about is that Dean will be utterly destroyed if anything happens to Ben tonight. He covers Ben’s body with his own as best as he can, but it’s two against one, Henry and Beesome with that goddamn sledgehammer getting way too close for Sam’s liking as he flails his machete wildly outward and upward. He shouts out with unexpected pain when something slices open his prone forearm—a thigh, a few seconds later—

And then both vampires are falling back, no, _blasted_ back away from them, crashing into the pool and inexplicably staying put where they’re both writhing on the bone-dry floor of it. “Leave us alone,” Ben snarls, and while Sam hobbles up from where he’d been crouched over the boy, Ben propels himself to his feet, eyes flashing gold.

Behind Sam, he hears Claire’s and Dean’s voices followed by two dull thuds—Dean must have arrived just minutes behind him and Ben. “Did you just—?” Sam asks faintly.

“Think so,” Ben answers dully.

“Telekinesis, huh? Guess that means you really are psychic.”

“Looks like.”

“What that about earlier? What did you remember?”

Dean staggers up to them, then, while Claire busies herself with cutting Jody and Alex both free of their restraints, and Ben turns wide eyes on him. “When we got here—when I saw their faces—but you’re not a vampire. Are you? I remembered something—I remembered you showing up in the middle of the night, and you shoved me, and your face was so…”

“I’ll give you two some time,” Sam mutters, and he turns to check on Jody and the girls.

-

Ben and Claire ride back with Sam and Dean in the Impala after everyone’s more or less cleaned up and ascertained to be relatively unharmed. By the time they’re pulling up to Jody’s house, the kids have curled up together against the driver’s side window, and Dean asks Claire in an undertone as they’re all getting out, “You’re _sure_ there’s nothing funny going on between you and him?”

“Dean,” Claire says with a shake in her voice that Sam thinks is controlled anger before he realizes she’s holding in a laugh. “I’m, like, about ninety-percent lesbian. Ben is gay. We’re _just_ friends.”

“Wait, _what_? Are you kidding me? Ben’s always been so… so…”

“It’s called toxic masculinity. You should look it up: you might even learn something.”

Sam laughs out loud at the stricken look on Dean’s face as he follows Ben through the front door. “You gave us a pretty big scare back there, Ben. Sure you’re okay?”

Ben shrugs at him as he kicks off his sneakers and starts shedding the jacket and hoodie that got stained to all hell in the pool house. “It’s always like that when I remember something new. It takes a few seconds to get back on my feet before I can place it.”

“I know that feeling,” Sam says, mostly to himself, but Ben shoots him a quizzical look. “Oh, um—a few years ago… the first time I got out of Hell… my soul was stuck down there for about a year and a half while I was walking around topside. It was a little overwhelming fitting everything together when I finally got back both sets of memories.”

“The _first_ time?”

“I was trapped down there again for a while a few weeks ago. It was technically less than a day, but time passes differently in the Cage. Felt like…”

When Sam doesn’t move to offer anything further, Ben gives him a half-smile and claps him awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. I, uh—I’m glad you’ve got Dean, to help you through it.”

“Yeah?”

“Look, I still don’t trust him, okay? If I never see either of you again, it’ll be too soon. I just… kind of get how he’s maybe not a complete malicious bastard just because he was a crappy stepdad.”

Ben holds out a stiff hand, then, and Sam, startled, shakes it. Moments later, he watches as Ben and Dean do the same.

It’s not until much later that night, Sam taking his turn to cram uncomfortably onto Jody’s loveseat while Dean stretches out marginally more on the couch, that Dean says quietly, “You think that Ben’s really gonna be all right?”

“He’s a tough kid.”

“Yeah… but that ain’t the same thing.”

Surprised, Sam looks up to find his brother watching him in the dark. “No, but sometimes, that’s the best anybody can do.”

There’s a pause, and then Dean admits, “Want you to be okay, Sammy.”

“Sap. You want to cuddle it out, or do you think you can control yourself?”

“Bitch,” Dean mumbles, but he smiles, and when two nights later he really _does_ cuddle Sam to sleep on top of his stupid memory foam, well—Sam’s not going to complain.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Penance (Podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15713367) by [eluna-spoken (eluna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eluna/pseuds/eluna-spoken), [Yithian_Expatriate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yithian_Expatriate/pseuds/Yithian_Expatriate)




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